


Arissa

by YoutubeAndSatan



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, all inspired by thinking of the second-to-last sentence in this work, for instance; murder and torture of innocent people because once again, her conflicting thoughts leading up to her (non canon) death, lowkey dark shit in here, major character death only if you count my oc as a major character, she was a BAD FUCKING PERSON, she was a BAD person and always trying to make peace with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoutubeAndSatan/pseuds/YoutubeAndSatan
Summary: A series of pieces based around my D&D Character, Arissa.





	Arissa

a mind, divided - Arissa's internal monologue during a one-shot relating to her deity and her death

-

Part of her had the feeling that this was bigger than just a few sentient scarecrows. Part of her felt the impending dread creeping up, part of her felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise the second Eleanor described her dream. She could visualize it as if she had been the one to dream it- the skull, the ash, the flesh- and she wasn’t sure what scared her more, the fact that she could see it so vividly in her minds’ eye, or the fact that she had finally been faced with a dream that she had absolutely no interpretation of. Visions in dreams certainly weren’t common, but they happened more frequently than one would expect, in her experience. Often times the subconscious mind can see hints of what’s to come before the conscious mind can process them fully, and that manifests in dreams. It’s how she used to make her money on the side- back on the Wasp, she’d make it into somewhat of a game. See how many of her crewmates she could scare, by interpreting their dreams (for a small price, of course) and then making sure something would happen- whether it was her doing or not, she would never tell. She spent many nights awake, trying to figure out ways to make it appear as if her crewmates’ dreams were very much real. Sometimes the events she orchestrated were so big she could barely pull them off, sometimes they were as simple as swapping someone’s mug of ale out for an empty one while they looked away, and occasionally, she didn’t need to do a single thing to see that their “visions” were seen to completion. Occasionally, she would feel the dreams had a deeper meaning, one beyond her recognition- those times were the first few times she felt that warm, tingling energy begin to overtake her, and words that weren’t her own escaped her lips before she could stop them. After it happened, she would often leave her stunned crewmate alone, looking to drink away the memory of the experience as quickly as she could. For the most part, she thought it was all a crock- until she had a dream of her own.

However, she wasn’t entirely sure that Elenor’s dreams were omens, despite what she said to calm the woman down. Dreams could easily be manufactured by various kinds of magic, or just by an imagination run wild. She wasn’t even sure that it was worth putting thought into until she felt that familiar energy begin to blanket her. Her holy symbol seemed to burn against her chest, her stomach turning in on itself over and over as Eleanor spoke. 

She didn’t know if the feeling she got was a sign, or just her instinct- she would always say instinct, always insist that it’s simply her mind trying to keep her alive by using primal, base reactions that she didn’t fully understand, but quietly, to herself, she would always hope. There was nothing she wanted more than to finally have her pleas acknowledged in some way. Yes, she could channel that energy, she could do more than some people would ever dream of, but for her, nothing would mean as much as a simple acknowledgement; a piece of solid, undeniable proof that she was more than just a leech drawing from a source of power greater than she could ever comprehend. She prayed every day, almost never receiving a sign that she was actually being listened to, or even heard, and eventually began to convince herself that although she would grow more powerful, it wasn’t a reward to her. In fact, it slowly began to feel like a curse. There was always a nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her that all her years of faith had lead to nothing but her learning to _take_ and _take_ more power for herself. Sometimes she would think that her desperation to know that she was on the right path, that she wasn’t throwing her life away for the second time, was what caused her to chase confrontation. The closest she had ever felt to fully knowing that the Gods were there, and that they saw the struggles of mortals, was when she was on the brink of death. Some part of her, deep inside, wanted to know that all-consuming bright light one more time. To once again experience the feeling of peace deep in her soul, even though her body was being twisted and thrown by the blackness of the ocean. She was reckless because she feared that the only way she would be seen was if she reached that point for a second time. Although part of her knew this, and understood that it was a heedless way to get Kords’ attention, she would always push those thoughts away. It’s the only thing that made any difference- It worked once, why shouldn’t it work again? Nonetheless, her faith (however unnoticed and unimportant it might feel, sometimes) had become her rock, and she wouldn’t have it any other way- even if she felt undeserving at times- because if it hadn’t been for that light, that same energy, she would have died at sea years ago. 

_But she didn’t._

That’s the fact she always found herself thinking on. It could be instinct- all of her experiences could be brushed away with logical thought (one could even say that she used the word “instinct” as an excuse, in this situation), and most of the time, that was the easiest way to rationalize all that’s happened. It’s easier to say that her instinct pulled her to the surface that day, and that she had drifted to the shore and found that temple by chance. It’s easier to say that the dream that led her into the woods, and to her new friends, was just happenstance. 

But instinct or not, divine or purely mortal, she knew. What they were walking into wasn’t just about scarecrows. 

\--

Part of her was convinced that they could handle this- her friends were powerful, intelligent, insightful- more than she could ever be. As they were forced to act on instinct, she found herself becoming more and more impulsive, falling deep into a panic that made her feel like she was drowning all over again. The dolls, the necklace, the deaths, the nightmares, they were all connected, clearly, but she couldn’t figure out how. Her brain was too clouded with information- too much input at once, not enough time to reflect on all of it. On the way down the stone stairway, she tried to collect her thoughts- the doll and the necklace were both magical artifacts. Maybe they were storing more souls, like the scarecrows were- but the scarecrows were all undead, otherwise they wouldn’t have run when she channeled divine energy. She tried to concentrate on her spell, to keep an eye out for anything else magic- when the strongest necrotic presence she had ever felt cut through the fog. A skull. It seemed like an inanimate object, simply something else that had to be destroyed to free another innocent soul- it didn’t occur to her that the presence coming from the skull was more than any artifact could emit. 

As her warhammer ricocheted off of the bone, her heart began to beat faster, fear beginning to take hold of her. She realized a few moments too late that this was no artifact- she tried not to demean herself in what would turn out to be her last moments, but failed. As the skull’s jaw opened and she fell to the floor, her mind was racing with thought. Why didn’t she realize? Why did she have to be so blind, why did she have to endanger others with her recklessness? Why didn’t it go after anyone else? She hit the floor thankful that she had been the only one it lashed out at, whatever it was. After all, she deserved this the most- after years and years of arson, thievery, murder and torture just for fun, it seemed fitting that one reckless decision would bring her to her final moments. She had done terrible things in her life- in the moment between life and death, she began to see faces, all flashing in her mind, one after the other. At first, she thought it was nothing but a cruel reminder that she deserved this fate. The faces of the men and women she tortured for information. The faces of the ones she tortured just for fun, their innocent features writhing in agony. The faces of her crewmates, the people she used to call friends, laughing at someone else's’ life being taken like it meant nothing. The face of her captain, proud of the evils she spread in his name in the last moments of his life, his face going slack as he was impaled by a rusty blade. The same kind of rusty blade she would use on others. The faces of the members of the ship that overtook theirs’, and the face of the first mate, screaming his disappointment at her as she fell off the edge of the ship into the black waters below.

But then, it shifted- she thought it would end. It was the same thought she had when she felt the frigid saltwater begin to consume her- although, this time, instead of feeling divine warmth that she couldn’t explain, the faces continued. She was gripping onto her last spark of life, although, she wasn’t sure why- she had spent years trying to make up for what she did, trying to save lives to make up for the ones she took. Maybe it was in vain- or, she thought so, until the memories continued. More faces. Not ones that reminded her of the terrible things she had done, but faces that reminded her of the people that she earned forgiveness from. The faces of the priests that found her coughing up water on the shoreline outside of their shrine. The faces of the people she had tried to save with her friends, the youthful features of a boy scared by a scarecrow, the muzzle of an owlbear spared in the woods. The faces of her friends were the final thing to cross her mind- Clancy’s charming, but never disingenuous grin, always getting them out of trouble, Milo’s quick wit, brutally honest, but also one of the most loyal people she had ever met, and Charity’s caring disposition, seemingly always wanting to avoid violence, or help, in one way or another. And for a moment, she was at peace. Not in a divine sense- genuine peace, although different from the one she felt in Kord’s presence. In her last moments, her racing thoughts slowed down, making way for a final moment of quiet. A moment of peace, not given to her by a god, but one that she had earned alongside the people that believed in her when she needed it the most. Her ever-present fear of not doing “enough” to make up for what she did was, for the first time, completely silenced. After decades of telling herself not to trust anyone, only ever looking out for her own interests- years of forcing herself to be alone, of being afraid to show any fear, lest someone take advantage of it, her life ended with one fact ringing in her mind, one realization that she would ever have thought to come true. In fact, every moment of her life leading up to this would have suggested that the exact opposite would be true during her final moments.

Yes, she died afraid. **But she didn’t die alone.**

And somehow, that was more than she could have ever asked for.


End file.
